


Medicine

by breeisonfire



Series: TAG prompt fics [10]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, being the youngest means everyone smothers you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 17:04:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10926210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breeisonfire/pseuds/breeisonfire
Summary: Bookwormliz99 on ao3 requested: "Can you please write a story where Alan is sick and tries to hide it so he won't have to take medicine but his brothers find out anyway and they hold him down and make him take it?"





	Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> Cheers, Bookwormliz99, I hope this works for you. ^_^

Having four older brothers has its ups and downs. Most of the time, Alan really doesn’t mind it. Being the youngest sucks for a few different reasons, like being left out and not remembering things the others did, but it also means that he almost always got away with things. And it means that he’d learned how to fly when he was still a kid, and it means that he had four really cool people to turn to when he needed them.

Unfortunately, it also means that they babied him. It means that they pay way too much attention to him when he did not want them to, and this was one of those times.

He’s not that sick. He’s pretty sure it’s just a cold, though maybe the way he woke up with a pounding headache means he’s about to be proven wrong. He’s managed to hide it so far. He knows that’s mostly because his brothers have all been busy, but he’s still pretty happy with it.

He’s hiding in his room, a movie playing so his brothers don’t think it’s weird that he’s in there. He doesn’t want them hovering. He doesn’t want the disgusting medicine Virgil swears by. He’ll be fine if he sleeps this off.

Probably.

He should maybe have thought to let John know that he wasn’t feeling great, though, because not an hour later, John’s hologram appears.

“Alan! Time to wake up, we have a situation!”

Alan grumbles quietly, but doesn’t move. He’s not sure he _can_.

John then resorts to his favorite tactic: the loud, clanging alarm that will get his brothers on their feet in less than ten seconds. Alan only remembers it’s coming a half second before John activates it.

It’s like an ice pick is being driven through his skull. He grabs his head and whimpers instead of yelling, and it’s maybe that that gets John’s attention more than anything else. The alarm quiets.

“Alan?” he says, his tone much softer, but Alan still flinches. He can’t help it. His head is killing him.

Distantly, he hears John try to speak to him again, and then, someone’s touching him. He’s rolled over to blink blearily at worried brown eyes. Virgil puts his hand on Alan’s forehead, and turns to talk to Scott, standing right behind him, but Alan’s too tired to try to listen.

He can feel Virgil - he thinks it’s Virgil - lift him, and he’s propped up, leaning against whichever brother it is. He knows what’s coming, but still tries to move his head away from the medicine.

It’s awful stuff. Gordon says it tastes like charcoal. Alan doesn’t know what charcoal tastes like and doesn’t want to know why Gordon does, but he imagines Gordon’s probably right.

“Come on, Alan,” he hears Virgil say through the fog and turns his head again. This just makes him dizzy, and Virgil catches him before he has a chance to try again.

It’s so much worse than Alan remembered. He chokes it down, if only to get it over with, and he’s rewarded by Virgil maneuvering him to lay on his bed. A cool washcloth is placed on his forehead and over his eyes and he’s tucked into bed.

The medicine tastes awful, but it works wonders. Alan can feel himself drifting off, his headache receding enough where he can sleep. He knows he’s going to get lectured about letting them know when he’s sick, especially when he’s on call, and he knows Virgil’s going to spend the whole night sitting next to his bed. And he feels guilty about that. He’ll apologize in the morning.

But his last thought before sleep finally claims him is, _God, I hate that medicine._


End file.
